imAGO
by Nathan Fraust
Summary: imago, n., 1. The final developmental stage of an insect after undergoing metamorphosis; 2. An idealised concept of a loved one, formed in childhood and retained unaltered in adult life. 3. image, ghost, echo


Half-Tone

 _December 20, 2018_

 _Photography is an immediate reaction, drawing is a meditation._

I sighed as I reflected on Henri Cartier-Bresson's quote, wrapping my hands around the steaming mug of Tazo green ginger tea in an effort to draw as much warmth from it as possible before it floated away in the chilled December air. The general noise of human conversation waxed and waned as I leaned against the frigid metal chair frame, eventually becoming nothing more than a slight buzz in my ears as the minutes passed into hours.

 _Where_ is _he?_ I wondered silently. I glanced at my battered Samsung Galaxy Note Edge; the glowing, splintered screen read _7: 31_. I'd been at Latte Owl since 4.

"I mean, sure," I muttered to myself, "he's some sort of big-shot superhero now, but that doesn't mean he's forgotten about me… right?"

 _Well, he_ has _always been a bit of a wanderer._

 _And a rebel._

 _And a delinquent._

 _But he's_ always _been honest._

VΛ

There was something warm on my shoulder.

I startled, coming up from a somewhat-pleasant state of half-awakeness, and almost immediately felt a wave of heat wash over me; it soaked into my beige jacket and navy blue jeans, drying them somewhat, but still leaving an overall gross, damp feeling. _What the hell?_

"What the f-" I started to say, turning to look behind me. The words hit a lump in my throat.

"Hey, L.C." His voice held a hint of surprise, shock, exhaustion, and, strangely enough, tenderness. He withdrew his outstretched hand after a moment of hesitation, then stuck it in his jean vest pocket. "Long time, no see."

 _Really?_ I sighed, rubbing my eyes with the palm of my hand in an effort to drive away sleep. _After_ three _years,_ that's _what he_ has _to_ say _to me?_  
"Nice to finally see you in person, 'Banner Man'." I watched his face shift from that familiar state of recognition to semi-annoyed in seconds.

"Stupid tourists…" he muttered in a low voice.

I let out a short chuckle, and was slightly surprised when his face lit up. The corners of his mouth turned up, and his eyes sparkled in that way that only he seemed to be able to achieve-

 _Jeez, Max, are you trying to go for "lovestruck idiot" here? I'm sure we've both grown past that._

He must have seen something pass over my face, because his brow furrowed, giving him a worried expression. "You okay, Max?"

I gave him a small smile. "I'm fine, Delsin." A short pause, then- "I've missed you."

Delsin exhaled, obviously relieved. "Same here, Max. Same here."

VΛ

I swirled the almost-non-existent tea inside my mug for what felt like the eightieth time in the past hour and a half. Delsin had carefully heated it up for me with his hands (and wasn't _that_ a sight to see) before setting it down on the table to cool.

I gave a slight sigh before glancing at Delsin again. He was watching me with a strange look on his face.

"What's wrong?" I asked, brow furrowing.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just thinking of some new tags I should sketch down."

"And my face is needed why?"

"Well..." He trailed off, looking away and rubbing his neck.

I took a quick glance around the apartment living room. Maps were pasted across the ceiling-high windows, lines of yarn crisscrossing in an almost haphazard fashion across oceans and state lines.

"You planning a hit, Del?"

He froze up, hand clenching at air.

I put the mug down carefully. "Delsin, what is it?"

"Don't-" he started, before he seemed to collapse in on himself. "Don't call me that."

"What, Del-"

" _Stop calling me that!_ " He threw the can of spray paint he'd been holding at the wall, tearing a hole through the Atlantic and embedding the canister into the concrete.

I scooted back. "Alright, I'll stop; just-" I spread my hands in a pleading gesture. "Tell me what's wrong."

Delsin took short breaths, his glare lit with some dark fire, before suddenly evening out, brow unfurling and breaths coming longer and longer.

"It's Abigail," he said, holding up a hand. Inwardly, I gasped at the silver on his ring finger. "My fiancée. The Sons took her."

"But- I thought they were just a myth?" I asked. After the Empire Event, everybody had heard of the shadowed organization Cole McGrath, the "patron saint of New Marais", had fought against, despite the efforts of the media to mask the truth of the events.

Delsin shook his head. "No, they- they regrouped, took over nearly every major criminal organization on the globe in _months_. I'd sent Abi to Europe to keep tabs on a possible lieutenant in the Sons, but she missed her check-in twice this week. I- I need-"

"Help," I finished.

"Yeah."

He looked _haunted_ , I decided as I studied him. After Chloe-

"Alright."

His eyes lit up.

"When do we go?"

* * *

 **A/N: I started this thing _way_ back, like, almost three years ago. IIRC, I was inspired by this Delsin/Max GMV with a cover of Coldplay's "Scientist". **

**Anyways, since LiS is a bit of a hot topic atm, as opposed to inFAMOUS, I might post this in the main LiS story index, if the LiS/inFAMOUS category doesn't work out in the next few weeks.**

 **-Nate**


End file.
